


Honor and Silence

by Keiran



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-06-14
Updated: 2010-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-10 03:05:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/94774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keiran/pseuds/Keiran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written for the kink-meme to fill this prompt: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/1636.html?thread=1383524#t1383524</p><p>Takes place during Captured! Competent people are in charge of Fort Drakon for once and Keiran Mahariel is unable to escape or be rescued for days. Loghain is convinced he's working for Orlais and has the Warden physically and mentally tortured in order to extract a confession.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Honor and Silence

**Author's Note:**

> **Original Prompt:**   
> _Make one of my favourite male characters cry. Please. They are tough guys, so pain and physical abuse (although welcomed by anon) are not going to hit the spot. Hit him where it hurts, emotionally. Degrade him. Get inside his mind and twist it. Terrify him. Humiliate him, publicly. Torture him. Threaten, hurt or destroy what he holds most dear. Turn those he cares for against him. Whatever it takes. Your choice of how you take him there. It depends on which character you choose, but I want it to be personal. They each have their weaknesses. Dark and nasty as you like, as long as it ends in tears._

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the original fill, minus a few typos/bad phrasings I discovered after posting and fixed.
> 
> *NEW*If you've read this before, check out Chapter 2; it's new. Chapter 3 is the old Chapter 2.

**Day Three**

Keiran gasped in pain as the whip sliced into his back, adding another cut to the many already covering the Warden's body. Manacles attached to the ceiling by long chains held his wrists above him, just high enough that his feet couldn't lay flat on the cold stone floor. He was cold, starving, every inch of him ached, and wearing nothing except a simple gold earring.

Surrendering to Ser Cauthrien for the murder of Arl Howe was purely a practical, if incredibly distasteful, decision. His Dalish upbringing had drilled into him to never submit to the _shemlen_, but himself, Morrigan, Oghren, and Zevran versus forty well-trained guards, several mages, and Ser Cauthrien would have been as suicidal as the other elf's botched assassination attempt all those months ago. And so, despite their protests, and unable to look Zevran in the eye, he had left them with a whispered order, “Get the Queen to Arl Eamon first, but then I expect to be rescued.”

But after being tortured for days, and definitely _not_ being rescued, Keiran was starting to wonder if they could have defeated all those men after all.

The whip struck him again, and again the only sound out of him was a quiet gasp. To scream or cry out would be viewed as a sign of weakness amongst his people. Keiran had never expected to use the lessons he had learned while preparing to receive the _Vallaslin_, the tattoos on his face that marked him as an adult, in such a way, but took some satisfaction in the fact that his relative silence annoyed his captors to no end.

“How is the prisoner?” said someone behind Keiran. The whipping stopped and he offered a quick prayer of thanks to his gods for the reprieve. He couldn't see the arrival, but knew who the voice belonged to.

_Loghain is back again. How long has it been since he was last here?_ Honestly, he had no idea. Between the torture and lack of decent sleep Keiran had lost all sense of time. _For that matter, how long have_ _**I**_ _been here?_

“Unchanged my Lord,” replied one of the jailors. “Three days and still he resists.”

_Three days!? Where is everyone?_

Loghain approached the captive Warden. Keiran kept his head down as he always did, refusing to acknowledge the other man's presence until he had to.

“For an Orlesian spy, you are remarkably resilient.” Loghain grabbed a handful of the elf's brown hair and roughly pulled his head back. Keiran defiantly stared right into Loghain's hate-filled eyes. “Who are you working for, traitor? Is it the Empress? How much is that whore paying you to betray your country?”

“You are the traitor,” Keiran replied hoarsely and wondered when was the last time he'd had any water. “You aband-” Loghain slapped him across the face with his free hand. Keiran was able to see it coming and turn his head, but the armored fingers still ripped into his flesh.

“You _abandoned_ the King,” Keiran continued through the pain. “And framed us for his death.”

Suddenly, Loghain's hands were around his throat, squeezing. “The King was a good man that was taken in by you charlatans!” he roared. “You consorted with the darkspawn and Orlais, roped him in with tales of glory, and led him to his death!” Keiran tried to fight his rising panic as his lungs screamed for air, but instinct won out. Desperately, he pulled at his restraints while Loghain laughed at his feeble attempts to free himself.

_Is this the end? Mythal protect me; I can't die like this! Everyone is counting on me!_

Loghain finally released his grip just before Keiran passed out and slapped him again as he gasped for air. Mind and body reeling, he could only hang helplessly as the enraged Loghain struck him repeatedly.

And yet, he felt oddly detached from it all. Keiran's oxygen-deprived brain was pulling him into unconsciousness, and he welcomed it.

* * *

**Day Five**

_Standing in Keiran's room at Arl Eamon's Denerim estate, Zevran looked around nervously, as if he wanted to bolt. “I just need to know… if there is a possibility of something more for us. I don't know what exactly. A… future?” The usual calm mask had vanished, and Keiran marveled at how expressive the Antivan could be without it. He could see the emotions running through the other elf: love, fear that he would be rejected, and the hope that he would not. _

_He, of course, was just as nervous, but elated that Zevran was finally ready to stop pretending their relationship was only casual. “I don't know. We still have the Blight to contend with, but… but I know how I feel about you, Zevran.”_

_The joy on Zevran's face warmed Keiran's heart. “I… still have the earring. May I give it to you, Keiran? As a token of affection?”_

“_Coming from you, Zev, that's practically a proposal.” Keiran resisted the urge to slap himself._ By the Creators, why am I being snarky _now_? I know Zev said it was part of my charm but still, this is _not_ the time!

“_Not unless you wish it,” Zevran said slowly. Keiran was stunned and would've assumed Zev was getting him back for his comment, but one look into those eyes told him the one he loved was completely serious._

Why are you hesitating? This is what you wanted! _Keiran smiled softly. “Yes, I wish it.”_

_Zevran grinned and placed the gold earring into Keiran's waiting hand. “I apologize for my earlier behavior, mi amora. I… will be better now. Much better.” _

“_Oh? I think I require a demonstration,” Keiran said in his best “seductive Zevran” impression. "Perhaps you can show me?”_

_Zevran laughed, breaking the nervous tension at last. He grabbed Keiran's hand and started leading him to the nearby bed. “This is why I adore you so. And to think, you were so shy in the beginning!” _

_Keiran slipped a hand around his lover's waist and pulled him close. “I learned from the best,” he whispered as their lips met…_

The shock of cold water on his face brought Keiran out of his dream. Blearily, he looked up and saw Loghain toss a bucket aside. _Ah, just what I wanted to wake up to._

“No sleeping, Warden,” said Loghain coldly. “Not until you've answered my questions to my satisfaction.”

_How long was I out for? Minutes? Hours? Is it even the same day?_ He pulled at his restraints, shuddering as a wave of agony washed through him. _From the way my wrists hurt, they must have left me hanging for quite awhile._

He continued his self evaluation. _What else… I'm cold and wet, my stomach feels like it's going to start eating_ itself, _and I'm exhausted._

Keiran sighed. _This does not bode well for me at all. Will I be able to make it through another day? Zev, where are you?_ He thought sadly. _You promised you would rescue me._

"We… will be here a long time then. Perhaps you should pull up a chair?” Keiran's glibness earned him a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him. _Ugh… I really should stop pissing him off. Alistair always said my smart mouth would get me in trouble. Alistair… are you even coming for me, lethallin?_

Logain motioned to someone out of Keiran's vision, who brought him the whip. He walked around the elf and began questioning him again, punctuating each word with a whip strike to the back. “Who. Do. You. Work. For?”

Keiran quickly retreated back into his training as the beating continued.

_We are the Dalish: keepers of the lost lore, walkers of the lonely path. We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit._

Over and over, he repeated the Oath of the Dales. He prayed to his gods for the strength to endure. Somehow, he managed to keep silent once again, but was completely drained by the ordeal.

_The lack of food and sleep is getting to me. If they start up again I don't know if I can take anymore._

In that instant, his resolve faltered. _Andruil forgive me. I can only bend so far. I… I just want it to __**end.**_

Keiran's head was pulled back and Loghain stared into his brown eyes once again. As if detecting the sudden weakness in his prisoner he asked, “Are you ready to talk, traitor?”

_No... I can't give in. So many are depending on me: my clan, my friends, the whole country. Andruil guide me. Mythal protect me. I must endure._

_I **will **endure._

“Never! I will never submit to the likes of you!”

“Hmph. You cannot keep this up much longer; you must realize this.”

Keiran glared at Loghain, eyes burning with resolve as he stared down his captor. “For my friends and those I am sworn to protect, I will endure anything. Their strength is my strength.

You may break my body, _shemlen_, but you _will not break me._”

* * *

**Day Seven**

Keiran awoke on the floor of his cell, curled up on his side and shivering from the cold. His wrists and ankles were bound as always, more for the psychological effect than out of concern that the Dalish warrior would be able to attack anyone in his current state. His mind felt like it was wrapped in a fog, making it difficult to concentrate.

“Ah, so you awaken at last.”

_Why is he always here? Doesn't he have better things to do than watch me sleep?_ He wanted to reply with a witty retort, but his mind failed him. He managed to sit up halfway, propping himself up on shaking arms and trying to ignore the shooting pains in his wrists.

“There have been some… interesting developments in the world outside while you slept.” Loghain was sitting in a chair just inside the door of the cell with a brown sack sat next to him. “Last night, my men raided Eamon's estate and slew everyone there for the crime of kidnapping the Queen, including your companions.”

_What!?_ “You're lying!” Keiran said hoarsely, unable to believe it.

“Of course, your friends put up a valiant fight,” Loghain continued, as if Keiran had not spoken, “but they all fell in the end.”

_No! It can't be true!_ “I… I don't believe you.” _It's just a trick; it __**has**__ to be._

“I thought you would say that.” Loghain grabbed the sack and walked over to the Warden. “My men collected some things from Eamon's estate that I think you will recognize.” He tipped the sack over, spilling the contents on the floor and Keiran's heart sank at what he saw.

Gifts. The gifts he had given to his companions to bolster their morale. The little figurines Alistair liked so much, symbols of Andraste and the Chantry, a golden mirror, and more.

“This doesn't prove they're dead,” Keiran said shakily, trying to convince himself more than anything. “You could have someone in Arl Eamon's estate steal these things.”

“True. But could someone steal this?” Loghain plucked a leather pouch from the ground and thrust the contents into Keiran's face.

It was a lock of blond hair, braided and splattered with blood.

“No!” Keiran jerked his head away but he'd already caught the faint scent of spice and leather polish. There was no denying who this hair belonged to. He could feel his eyes watering and dug his hands in to try and stop the tears. _Zev... please no... it can't be..._

“Hmph. So the rumors about you and the other elf were true after all. He was your lover.”

Hearing the word brought up a flood of memories. Memories of passionate kisses when no one was looking, of tangled limbs in a tent nearly too small for two, and of a gold earring in his hand and the promise of a future… a future that would never happen now.

He could stand being tortured physically, and had done so for days, but the pain he felt now was so much worse. Keiran felt as if he had been stabbed in the heart.

_They're all dead. Zev is dead._

It was too much. He burst into tears. He looked away from his captor, ashamed and humiliated to have someone see him cry.

Ignoring Keiran's obvious distress, or perhaps seeking to twist the knife further, Loghain dropped his other bit of news. “This morning, the Landsmeet confirmed me as my daughter's Regent. You've lost, Warden.”

_I've… lost? _

“They are dead because of you. You led them into this.” The knife twisted again and his resolve shattered at last.

_I've… I've failed at everything. I failed to stop Loghain. I failed to protect my friends. The Blight is going to consume Ferelden now, so I've failed my clan and my duties as a Grey Warden too._

It occurred to Keiran that with Alistair dead, he was the only Grey Warden left. He was all alone, in more ways than one. Everyone he ever cared about was dead, or soon would be, and it was all his fault.

_Everything I've gone through in the past year… has it really been for nothing? Forgive me everyone, I have failed you all._

And so, consumed by his failure, humiliation, and grief, Keiran finally broke. He screamed, no longer able to contain his swirling emotions.

_And now I've failed my gods as well._

His failure now complete, he curled up on the cold floor of his cell, sobbing uncontrollably. Loghain silently gathered up the items on the floor and left, knowing his prisoner would finally reveal his Orlesian connections when he returned.

* * *

**Day Eight**

Loghain entered Keiran's cell. “Are you ready to talk now, Warden?”

“Yes.” The change in the elf was striking. The fiery resolve in Keiran's eyes had been extinguished, leaving them dull and lifeless. His posture had always been proud and defiant despite the torture. Now, the broken Dalish Warden slouched, manacled arms hugging his knees to his chest. One hand still clutched the bloody blond braid and he was on the verge of tears.

_Don't cry, Keiran. Don't let him see you cry again._

Loghain nodded to the man behind him, who would keep written record of the interrogation. “State your name for the record.”

“Keiran Mahariel.” Even his voice had changed to be as empty as his eyes. His weakness sickened him. He blinked a few times to try and ward off the coming tears. _Don't cry._

“And you are a member of the Ferelden Grey Wardens?”

“The only member.” He thought of Alistair then, but quickly tried to push his thoughts aside. The memories were too painful.

“Who was traveling with you? The ones in Eamon's estate when we raided it? The ones we killed?”

“Alistair Theirin, Grey Warden and bastard son of King Maric; Leliana, former Orlesian bard and Chantry sister; Sten, a Qunari warrior; Wynne of the Circle of Magi; Morrigan, an apostate mage; Oghren, a warrior from Orzammar; and a mabari hound.” Each name brought up a flood of memories that tore at his weakened heart; each strike was more painful than any physical torture he had endured. _They're all dead because of me. I failed to protect them._ “And…” Keiran faltered.

“And the other elf?” Keiran shook his head in refusal. “Say it!” commanded Loghain.

With no strength left to resist, he had to obey. “Zevran Arainai, former Crow.” _Zev is dead… and it's all my fault._ The tears started to flow and he choked back a sob. _Damnit. Stop crying. I dishonor them all._ Keiran started shaking, filled with shame and disgust.

“And this elf was your lover, correct?” The knife in his heart twisted again and he desperately tried to push away the memories threatening to overwhelm him. He failed at that as well.

“Y-yes,” was all he managed to say before starting to cry in earnest once again. For several minutes the only sounds in the cell were his grief-filled sobs.

Just as the sounds of crying quieted, Loghain's voice pierced the silence. “Are you, in fact, an Orlesian spy? Tell me what I want to know and I will end your suffering.”

He wanted to lie. He wanted to make up a story, any story, so that Loghain would put him out of his misery.

_You would add even more to your humiliation and shame? You would dishonor everyone's memory for a quick death? If you betray them like this, you don't deserve to die._

Keiran let out a weary sigh. _Great, now I'm talking to myself. I must have gone mad. But no… the truth is all I have now. It's the only thing he can't take away from me._

And that was what Keiran clung to, the only shred of dignity he had left, as he answered. “No.”

Loghain was furious. “I know the Wardens were in league with Orlais!” he yelled. “Why do you continue to lie?”

For the first time since Loghain had entered the room, Keiran looked at him, tears streaming down his face. “You have humiliated me and taken away my purpose and my pride,” he began, voice oddly calm. “Your men killed my friends and the one I love. My body and spirit are surely broken beyond repair, and in breaking I have shamed myself in the eyes of my clan and my gods.”

Keiran laughed bitterly. “I have lost everything I held dear. Why would I lie, when the only thing I have left is the truth?”

Loghain just stared, wondering where the elf kept finding resolve. “We will continue this later. For your sake, I hope you are ready to tell me the truth at that time.”

Keiran said nothing.

Loghain left the cell and the broken Warden and approached the head jailor. “He is not broken enough to betray his Orlesian masters. Put him on the rack again.”

Minutes later, Keiran's screams of pain could be heard echoing through the halls of Fort Drakon. He had the truth, but it was not enough to keep him silent as he was tortured again.

\--------------------------------

Dalish gods referenced in the story:  
**Mythal **\- the Great Protector. Her name is invoked when protection is needed.  
**Andruil **\- Goddess of the Hunt. Creator of the _Vir Tanadahl_ or Way of Three Trees. Essentially it says three things: fly straight and do not waver, bend but never break, and together we are stronger than the one. Keiran references the latter two parts in the **Day Five** section.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have noticed there are no bodies. I left it ambiguous as to whether the companions are dead or not on purpose. Loghain did raid Arl Eamon's estate regardless, but I can think of a couple ways that Zevran can lose his braid and still make it out of there alive with the other companions (and if Keiran hadn't been tortured for a week prior to this he would think of some himself). And if the companions aren't dead, Loghain is lying about the Landsmeet confirming him as Regent too.
> 
> Going on from here assumes Loghain is lying. Chapter 2 is the rescue, and chapter 3 is the kmeme continuation (the C in H/C.)


	2. The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keiran continues to be tortured by Loghain. Zevran and Alistair finally manage to rescue him and are horrified by what they find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had halfway written this chapter to do the kmeme continuation (which is Chapter 3 now) anyway, and I finally got around to posting it.

**Day Ten**

“Are you an Orlesian spy?” Loghain was towering over him as he lay stretched out on the rack. He couldn't see the Regent; the blindfold took his sight but intensified everything else, including the pain. But he was very much aware of Loghain's looming presence, despite being unable to see, and he shrank away from it, trembling in fear.

If he had been more lucid, the irony of the situation would not have escaped him. The same intensity, the same _presence_ he had used to intimidate others when words failed was now being used against him… and to great effect. Just a few days ago he would not have been so terrified, but the honor-bound Dalish warrior that had been able to silently resist physical torture for days was long dead.

He had attempted more than once over the last several days to use his _Vallaslin_ training to resist, but the pain in his body and mind and the grief in his heart prevented him from achieving the necessary focus. The physical torture had affected him much more strongly now that his mental barriers were shattered, and, to his disgust, he had degenerated into this shadow of his former self.

His whole world now was Loghain's commanding voice, the excruciating pain in both mind and body that was slowly driving him mad, and the answers to the questions he was constantly asked.

“No.” His willpower was completely gone; all he could do was follow orders and answer Loghain's shouted questions honestly.

“Tell me the truth!” ordered Loghain yet again.

He wanted to tell Loghain what he wanted to hear, but his mind was so muddled from fever and pain that he could barely put together a few coherent thoughts, let alone remember his _own name_. If Loghain had asked, he wouldn't even have been able to put a name to the man whose death had filled his heart with a different kind of anguish, which was much more painful than what Loghain was doing to him physically. He couldn't even recall what that person looked like. All he knew at this instant was that the gold earring in his left ear was a gift from that man and he had loved him more than anything.

The earring had been a source of hope and comfort once. Now, its weight was just a painful reminder of everything he'd lost.

“I am! I don't know anything about Orlais!” he cried. _I __**am**_ _telling you the truth! Why won't you believe me?_

Even if he had been clear-headed enough to put together a story, all the information he had about Orlais was what Leliana had told him. He knew a little about bards and Chevaliers, that fashion was apparently a big deal, and the rich wore weird shoes. In his more sane moments back in the cell he had serious doubts that he could make up a convincing lie with those few snippets of information.

“Liar!” Loghain turned the wheel on the rack another notch and he screamed as the restraints pulled on his limbs, wondering if this would be the time that he was finally ripped apart. He wanted it to happen if it meant he could die at last. “I'll ask again: Are you an Orlesian spy?”

Too busy screaming to speak, he could only shake his head.

Loghain let out an annoyed sigh when the room grew quiet again. “Let's start over. Tell me the truth and you may be shown mercy. Will you answer my questions honestly?”

They had gone through this dance countless times. Loghain would ask a question, and he knew he had to respond quickly or face the consequences. There was no time to think.

_But I __**have**_ _been honest all this time… _“Y-yes,” he said shakily.

The word was barely out of his mouth when Loghain spoke again. “Where are your friends?”

“Dead--”

“And why are they dead?”

“I-I failed to p-protect them--”

“Is anyone coming to rescue you?”

“N-no--”

“Did you kill Arl Rendon Howe?”

“Yes--”

“Do you want to die?”

“Y-yes--” It was the truth, but it still disgusted him to say it.

“Are you in league with the Orlesians?”

“No.”

“Unbelievable,” he heard Loghain say under his breath. The wheel clicked again and tears flowed on their own as waves of excruciating pain washed through him. “Do you want this to stop?” Loghain yelled over the screaming.

“Yes!” He shouted in agony. “P-please, just kill me!” _Creators __**please, **__show mercy and make it __**stop**__!_

Once he had stopped screaming, he felt a hand on the side of his face, and he flinched away. The hand returned, cupping his face, and a thumb wiped away some of the tears that had gotten out from under the blindfold. Gently, Loghain said, “Warden, I know you are suffering a great deal, and I will give you what you seek. But first, you must give up your Orlesian connections.”

The sudden tenderness from this man, that had and continued to torture him so brutally, was completely unexpected. It was the first kindness he had been shown since his capture, and for reasons unknown to him, it just made him cry harder.

“All you have to do is tell the truth and I will let you die. You want that, don't you?”

“Y-yes…” he said as he choked back a sob.

“Tell me the truth.”

Tell me the truth. It was an order.

Unable to resist and _not_ follow it he responded with what Loghain said he wanted: the truth. “I-I have no connection to them. Please believe me, ser… I'm not lying… P-Please… have mercy…” _Begging for death… how low I've fallen…_

“I offered you release, and you continue to lie to me,” Loghain said harshly. “Where do you keep finding the strength to resist?”

The hand retreated and before he could reply the wheel clicked once more.

The world went white as something in his arms gave way at last. Everyone present heard the popping sounds that indicated cartilage, muscle, or tendons being ripped apart from the stress.

He hadn't thought it was possible for him to hurt more, but he did. His head thrashed and he pulled at his restraints, trying in vain to curl around his arms. Desperate screams filled the room and surrounding halls…

It was finally more than he could stand. He passed out, hoping, as he always did now, that he would not wake up.

* * *

The first thing he was aware of was the sharp, stabbing pains in his arms. As he slowly regained consciousness, he could feel the stone against his back and the metal binding his wrists and ankles.

_But that means… no… am I still… alive?_

Dreading what he would see, he slowly opened his eyes.

_No…_

As he suspected, he was back in his cell. He groaned in pain, and frustrated tears flowed as his dead eyes stared bleakly at the ceiling.

_Creators, why do you torment me so?… Why won't you let me die?_

Over the last three days, another emotion had been steadily eating away at him, threatening to overpower his fear, grief, humiliation, and shame…

He wanted to hope that it was a trick all along… That somehow the one he loved had lost a braid but was still out there, trying to get to him. But how many days had it been with no rescue? After the third day, when he had heard someone say it had been that long, the jailors had been very careful to not mention anything related to time. All the interrogations had been so similar, except for the instrument of torture, that they jumbled together in his shattered mind.

It could have been a week, two weeks, perhaps a month? Any guess was as likely as the others. But he needed to face the facts: Loghain hadn't been lying. If the others were alive, then surely they would have rescued him by now?

_No one is coming for me… Loghain won't accept the truth and I know nothing of Orlais so I can't even lie so he'll kill me. Am I… just going to be tortured until I finally go mad? Will I become like that babbling hermit we found in the Brecillian Forest? _

Despair.

_No… anything but that… _

He couldn't bear the thought of ending up that way; it would truly be a fate worse than the death he sought. Consumed by loneliness and despair, he wept.

He wept for all the people he had failed.

He wept for his companions. He might not have been on the best of terms with some of them, but they were the only family he'd had since leaving his clan.

He wept for the only person he'd ever loved, and their future together that would never come to pass.

He wept for himself, and all that he'd lost.

Exhaustion eventually pulled him into fitful sleep, but the pain kept bringing him back into the waking world. For an unknown amount of time he lay there semi-conscious, drifting back and forth between the Fade and reality.

Eventually he heard the cell door open, but paid no attention to it. He was curled up on his side facing away from the door so he couldn't see the new arrival, but he assumed it was Loghain or one of the other jailors come to take him to be tortured again. He made no effort to stop the tears; they had all seen it many times by now, and he had stopped caring if they saw.

“Maker's breath… Keiran…”

_Keiran? That's my name… right?_

Here, in his cell, his mind was not as strained, and he was able to remember things. He suddenly realized he knew who that voice belonged to.

_That sounded like Alistair… but it can't be. He's dead… It's the fever, it's making me hear things._

“Keiran, can you hear me?” said a second worried voice.

_Zevran too? Have I lost my mind at last?_

Someone knelt down in front of him and lightly grabbed his shoulder. Keiran flinched at the touch and barely opened his eyes. Looking down at him with obvious concern was Zevran. His left braid was missing and the right one was hanging down, but it was unmistakably him.

To Keiran's severely damaged mind, the only possible explanations for the appearance of two people that were supposed to be dead were that he'd gone mad, he was hallucinating, or he was dreaming. Regardless of the reason, seeing them was just another form of torture.

He shut his eyes tightly and started whispering, half panicked, “Creators, why are you doing this to me? It's just too perfect… My mind is playing tricks on me… Zev's not here… Zev **can't** be here…” If he'd been able to move his arms he would've covered his eyes with his hands.

Zevran gently pushed him onto his back and placed his hand on Keiran's forehead. “He's burning with fever. He must be delirious; he does not know what he's saying.”

Eyes still closed, Keiran continued rambling, “I know exactly what I'm saying… You can't be here. Alistair can't be here… No one's coming for me… It's just a dream. I'm going to wake up any second and be on the rack again… It's not real…” If he sounded like a madman to his rescuers, Keiran didn't care; they were only in his head after all.

_Don't get your hopes up; you know this can't be real. Zev is dead. You're __**not**_ _being rescued. Look again and he'll probably be gone._

He opened his eyes, but Zevran was still there. Their eyes met, and the other elf's expression changed instantly. His eyes widened in shock, horrified by what he had seen in Keiran's eyes. A whispered, “_Mi amora_…” slipped out.

“What's wrong?” asked Alistair worriedly. He had never known Zevran to sound like that.

“…Nothing.” Zevran was so rattled that he was unable to put his mask back up. He kept his head down so Alistair couldn't see, and couldn't meet Keiran's gaze again.

_What did he see? … Wait… it doesn't matter; he's not really here._

“Right…” Alistair wasn't convinced but decided not to press the issue. “You know, I wouldn't be surprised if he was delirious; a lot of these wounds look infected. Did they not heal him at all?”

“If they did it was very little,” was Zevran's disgusted reply. “I wish the ones that did this to him were here so I could kill them… slowly.”

“Just make sure you let me help. But enough chatting, we need to get him to Wynne as soon as possible.” Alistair knelt down on his other side, too horrified at the condition his 'brother' was in to be embarrassed by Keiran's nakedness. “Maker's breath… What have they done to you?”

Keiran stopped his continued ramblings to answer, “You're just a figment of my imagination, _lethallin_. You should know what they did.”

Alistair sighed. “I don't think we're going to convince him that we're really here.”

_That's because you're **not**. Any second now, I'm going to wake up._

“Keiran, listen to me. This is not a dream and we are going to get you out of here,” said Zevran, but he could tell Keiran didn't believe him. “Alistair, try to find his equipment while I release him.” Alistair stood and moved out of sight as Zevran produced his lock picks and went to work on the manacles binding Keiran's wrists.

After a few minutes, the first cuff popped open. “I suppose we should be thankful that you made me work on my lock-picking skills, no?” Zevran's tone was light, but the amusement in his voice did not transfer to his face, which was still wearing that horrified, shocked expression. “Keiran?”

Exhaustion had caused him to fall asleep again.

* * *

Fading in and out of consciousness once more, Keiran was dimly aware of a few things that he would probably not remember later: being wrapped in a blanket or cloak and carried out of his cell by Alistair, the jailors returning and the murderous glare in Zevran's eyes as he slaughtered them, and the view of the stars overhead as they traveled through the streets of Denerim.

Keiran was startled awake when Zevran shouted for Wynne. He felt himself being lowered to the floor and heard many running footsteps approaching.

“Thank the Maker you were able to rescue him! How is he?” _I think that's Wynne._

“Not well,” said Alistair shakily. “He's been tortured… badly… he…” At a loss for words, he could only shake his head. “See for yourself.”

The cloth was lifted off him and Keiran heard many gasps and shrieks around him. He slowly opened his eyes and saw he was surrounded by his companions, Arl Eamon, Queen Anora, Riordan, and several others he didn't recognize. All of them were showing some measure of shock, horror, and disgust in their expressions.

It wasn't surprising. Keiran was covered in bruises, cuts from the whips, many of them oozing blood and pus or black from infection, dried blood, dust, and other filth. The skin on his back, if they could see it, was in bloody tatters. He was deathly pale and painfully thin from lack of food.

“How could they do this to him? He surrendered peacefully!” _Leliana… _

“I wish I could get my hands on the sodding nughumpers that did this!” _Oghren… _

“I already dealt with some of them,” Zevran said coldly. “It was not quick or painless; I can assure you.”

Arl Eamon was furious. “Loghain has gone too far! To torture an innocent man so brutally, it's inhuman!”

To see them all alive was too overwhelming for the broken elf. He desperately wanted to believe it was real; he desperately wanted to believe they were alive and he hadn't failed, but he couldn't bring himself to do so.

_As soon as I believe it, I'll wake up… It's not real… It's **not real.**_

Keiran kept silent, afraid that speaking up would shatter the illusion. Even though he believed it to be a product of his fevered mind, and even though this was heartbreaking, he didn't want to go back to that cell.

Wynne knelt down at his side. “Don't worry Keiran, you're safe now,” she said in a tone that was supposed to be soothing but did nothing to make him feel any better. “Alistair, bring him to one of our rooms. We need to begin treating those wounds right away.”

Alistair was trying to be gentle, but Keiran still winced and cried out when he was picked up again. A minute later he was placed in a bed and Alistair stepped away.

Wynne started examining his wounds immediately, but every touch, every poke sent a fresh wave of pain through his body. Keiran bit his lip and tried not to shout but it quickly became too much. When she picked up and tugged on one of his arms his agonized scream startled every person in the room. He involuntarily curled around the arm and nearly passed out again.

_I must be on the rack again… I knew it… I really am hallucinating… They're all dead…_

His heart sank as the feelings of despair and grief returned to full force and he tried in vain to blink back the coming tears. Keiran could see the growing horror on his friends' faces as they watched him cry, and it only made him feel worse.

“Sod it all! Forgive me, old pal, but I can't do this,” said Oghren shakily, and he quickly fled the room.

Sten bowed towards Keiran. “I am sorry, Kadan. We have failed you. Be strong.” He left as well. Keiran's mabari followed him, but not before running up to the bed and nuzzling Keiran's hand with his nose and uttering a worried whine.

Visibly shaken, Wynne just stared at Keiran in shock. She needed to treat his wounds, but she was afraid to touch him again if he was going to scream like that.

“C-can't you knock him out or something?” said Alistair, who had gone pale. “This… this is just cruel.”

“Yes, he has been through enough,” added Zevran, who was struggling, once again, to keep his mask up. “We would be no better than the ones that did this to him if we continue in this way.”

Wynne nodded and reached for her bag. As she pulled out a pair of flasks, she said, “One of these will help him fight off the infection, and the other will make him sleep for at least half a day, probably longer given his condition. It's… it's all I can do for him. I need someone to help him sit up.”

Zevran was at Keiran's side in an instant. “Forgive me, _mi amora,_” he said gently. “We have to hurt you once more, but then you can rest.” Zevran slowly lifted him into a sitting position, whispering apologies when Keiran groaned in pain. When he was up enough, Zevran sat behind him and allowed Keiran to lean against him, his head resting on Zevran's shoulder.

Keiran had nearly forgotten how it felt to be laying against him. He wished that he could move his arms so he could run his fingers through Zevran's blond hair and pull him into a kiss. He was certain that this wasn't the real thing, but he was going to allow himself to play along, to humor his hallucination, if it meant he could have a few moments with his beloved assassin.

Wynne brought the flask to Keiran's lips and he slowly drank one potion, then the other. Immediately after he finished the second one, his eyelids grew heavy and he had to struggle to keep them open.

“Zev?” he said sleepily.

“Yes?” replied Zevran as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind Keiran's ear. It was a very familiar gesture of affection, and Keiran found himself wishing harder still that this wasn't a dream.

“Don'tleaveme…” he mumbled, too drowsy to articulate the words properly.

“Of course.”

“I… Imissedyou…” whispered Keiran as his eyes closed…

_Please… let this be real…_

* * *

_I missed you too._

Zevran would have said it aloud if they were alone. He might even have said the l-word aloud if he thought it would help convince Keiran that this was real. But with four other people in the room, one of them that bitch Wynne? Absolutely not. But before Zevran could come up with a reply he wouldn't mind saying in front of the others, Keiran sagged against him, asleep at last.

Even now, Wynne was glaring at him, as if she expected him to draw one of his daggers and slit the sleeping Warden's throat. He glared right back, and fought off the urge to bring up her 'magical bosom.' Keiran's treatment was far more important than riling up the old bat.

If she ever found out he'd never had much intention of killing Keiran and Alistair at all, and had instead been seeking his own death by Grey Warden hands that day… Her sanctimonious preaching was bad enough already, and with that knowledge in hand, it would be even _worse_. Thankfully, the only other person with that information was Keiran himself, and Zevran knew he would never tell a soul.

The room was silent as Zevran gently lay his Warden back down and climbed off the bed. The front of his armor was smeared with Keiran's blood, but he ignored it for now. Wynne resumed her earlier work and Morrigan rushed over to assist. Not wanting to be in their way, Zevran sank into a chair near Alistair and Leliana, both of which looked as worried as he felt.

The three of them just watched the mages work, each caught up in their own disturbing thoughts. Keiran _never_ made any noise when he was in pain, even when he was badly wounded, and to hear him scream like that was deeply unsettling. Their “fearless leader” was not as invincible as they had allowed themselves to believe, and that was a sobering thought.

Even Zevran was guilty of overestimating the Warden, and he should have known better. He had seen Keiran in his vulnerable moments when no one else had. More specifically, Keiran had not _allowed_ any of the others to see when he felt overwhelmed by his task and wanted to give up. Even Alistair, Keiran's closest friend, did not know how close he came at times to quitting for good.

He had told Zevran, more than once, “I'm the leader. I always have to be strong in front of the others.” To Zevran, that was one of the many ways the other elf demonstrated the depths of affection he had for him. Keiran had let him in, allowed himself to be who he really was under the mask of the Warden when they were alone.

“Did… did you see his eyes?” said Leliana in disbelief. “They were… dead.”

“Somehow, they broke him,” said Wynne as she pulled an injury kit from her bag.

“Broke him? You're not serious… are you?” Alistair looked to the others in disbelief but they all said nothing. “You all knew?”

“I knew it when we found him,” Zevran said grimly. “As soon as I looked into his eyes, I knew.” The expression Keiran wore at that point would haunt Zevran for the rest of his life.

_It was the look of a man that wanted only one thing: death. He was begging me to kill him with his eyes._

“But how? He's so strong…”

“Everyone has a breaking point, Alistair,” replied Leliana. “It's just a matter of finding it, and he _was_ in there for a long time…”

“Because we failed him!” Zevran said suddenly, surprised at his own outburst. “We failed to rescue him for ten days. It's our fault that he is in this condition.” The guilt he felt was sickening. Were they so incompetent without Keiran leading them that they couldn't even manage a simple rescue in a timely manner?

The mages continued to work in the silence Zevran's words brought.

Several minutes later, a worried Alistair spoke up. “What if he's in no condition to lead? What are we going to do about Loghain and the Blight?”

“I know you want to stay with him, but if you're going to talk do it outside,” said Wynne. “Morrigan and I have a lot of work to do and don't need any distractions.”

Alistair and Leliana got up and left, but Zevran didn't move.

“You don't need to stay either,” Wynne said, with more than a little disdain in her voice.

“He asked me not to leave him,” Zevran said firmly. “Surely, you would not deny him his request?” _Bitch._

“He is hardly in any condition for any requests he makes to be taken seriously.”

“He is hardly in any condition for you to kick out the person he lo- cares for,” Zevran shot back. No, Wynne didn't deserve to hear him say that word. He still hadn't said it to Keiran, and he should hear it first.

Wynne was thankfully quiet after that, but she still shot him nasty glares from time to time. And each time, he glared back while trying to recall everything he had ever heard about torture and how to recover from it.

Keiran was going to need his assistance to recover, and he had to be ready.


	3. Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the requested continuation/epilogue to "Honor and Silence" (which is in chapter 1).
> 
> The chapter takes place between Captured! and the Landsmeet. Keiran has been rescued but is a broken mess and Zevran tries to get him on the road to recovery ASAP.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is identical to the original fill posted on kmeme, aside from what I noticed &amp; fixed after posting.
> 
> I should probably rework the beginning a bit since chapter 2 exists now, but I haven't gotten to it yet. Ignore the redundancies for now!
> 
> Oh, and if the descriptive text seems on the light side for this chapter, it's on purpose.

**Day Twelve**

Keiran lay in a soft bed, covered in bandages from the neck down. The sun was just beginning to rise and what he could hear of the rest of the house was silent. He was glad; if everyone else was asleep then he wouldn't have to face them.

He still had trouble believing it, but, in body at least, he was free. Zevran and Alistair had somehow managed to sneak into Fort Drakon and rescue him two days ago. He would never forget the horror on their faces when they found him crying on the floor of his cell and seen the physical damage that had been done to him. Burning with fever from his infected wounds and in no condition to walk or even stand on his own, Alistair had carried him back to the estate of whatever noble they were staying with since the raid on Arl Eamon's estate. No one had told him the name of their benefactor, and he really didn't care.

Keiran had thought he was dreaming, or hallucinating from the fever, at first. Having Zevran show up with only his right braid (hanging down instead of pulled back) was just too perfect. But it had been two days now since he was rescued, most of it spent drugged so he could sleep through the pain as his body began to heal. His mind was still fuzzy, but he knew when he awoke this morning that this was no dream.

_I'm alive. Zev and the others are alive. Loghain isn't confirmed as Regent. I haven't failed yet._

Even knowing that the reasons that had caused him to break were untrue, that didn't change the fact that he _had_ broken, and that was what tormented him now. The shame, humiliation, and disgust he had felt in that cold cell were still present in his mind, made many times worse since he had broke because of a lie.

_The others… can never know that I broke. They'd never respect me again. What would Zevran think of me if he knew?_ The thought that he might still lose Zevran anyway terrified him. He didn't realize he wasn't thinking clearly and that his judgment was severely impaired by the trauma.

As if thinking about the elf summoned him, Zevran's voice pierced the silence, startling Keiran. “Good morning, _mi amora._ How are you feeling?” He turned his head to look at Zevran, who he could barely make out in the dim light, sitting in a chair near the bed. Keiran had been so distracted with his thoughts that he hadn't noticed him at all. It was clear he had slept there overnight and as he approached Keiran could see that the other elf was deeply concerned and making no effort to mask it.

_For him to make that face, I must look terrible._ “I've… been better,” he said in the flat, lifeless voice that had replaced his normal one. _How long has it been since I broke? The days after seemed like an eternity. Will my voice ever be back to normal?_

“Do you wish to talk about it?” Zevran said as he sat on the edge of the bed and took one of Keiran's hands in his own.

“No,” he said firmly and turned his head to face away from his lover. _I don't deserve your sympathy._

“You really should-” Zevran began, but Keiran cut him off.

“No. I am not talking about it.”

“I have bared my secrets to you and you accepted the darkness in me. Do you think I will not do the same for you?”

The only light in the room was behind Zevran, obscuring his face in shadows. Keiran wasn't sure he wanted to see what expression Zevran wore anyway. What if it was pity?

If he had been thinking clearly he would have realized at this point that his fears about Zevran were not justified. He had listened to Zevran without judging, but with sympathy and understanding, so many times, why wouldn't he return the favor when Keiran needed him most?

“Zev, I… I can't…” _I can't face this yet._

“Have you forgotten what you saw of me in the Fade? You are not the only one to have gone though such an ordeal. The Crows required me to suffer in silence but you do not.”

_But you didn't break._ Somewhere deep down, he knew what Zevran was saying made sense, but at the same time he was nearly paralyzed with fear over how the one he loved would react if he knew the truth. After all they had gone through to finally get to this point, where they admitted their feelings for each other, if only in their own awkward way, the thought of being rejected now was almost too much to bear.

“Zev _please_, I know you are just trying to help, but I don't want to talk about it.” The all too-familiar pain in his heart was returning, and he could feel the tears welling up and threatening to flow. _No! He'll know if I cry in front of him. Stop it!_

“Why?”

“Why does it matter? Maybe I just don't want to talk right now.” Keiran rolled on his side so that he was facing the opposite wall, hoping Zevran would take the hint and leave.

“I know you are berating yourself and I will not allow you to continue to do so. Let me help you.”

“No. I don't deserve your help,” he said angrily. _Please go away. I can't do this. I can't lose you._

Zevran was starting to get frustrated, but years of practice allowed him to keep it from showing in his voice. He knew Leliana would probably be a better choice for this task, but they had agreed that Keiran needed to talk to the person he trusted most. With that in mind, he asked, “Keiran, do you trust me?”

“What sort of question is that? Of course I do,” he replied, clearly annoyed.

“Then tell me what happened.” Zevran said the words as gently as possible, but that just seemed to make Keiran more furious.

“You want to know what happened? Fine! I broke. Loghain broke me!” he said harshly. “He made me think you were dead and I had failed in our mission.” The tears finally flowed and he made no effort to stop them, but started shaking as he was overcome with shame and despair. “I thought I'd lost everything I ever cared about and completely fell apart. I wanted to _die_! I would've begged you for death when you found me if I hadn't been so sure that the rescue was all in my head.”

His voice dropped to a whisper as he continued, “I should have known Loghain was lying... I'm a disgrace to my clan, to the Grey Wardens… to you. Please… just… just leave me alone.”

Zevran's response was to curl up next to the shaking elf, who flinched at his touch, and wrap his arms around him. “I knew you were broken, _mi amora_,” he whispered in the other man's ear, still trying to be as gentle as possible. “I knew it when we found you. I've… seen it before.”

Keiran rolled over in Zevran's arms to face him, clearly confused. He didn't know what he expected Zevran to say, but it wasn't that. “Then… why…?” _Why did you make me say it if you already knew?_

“You needed to admit it. I apologize for upsetting you, but it was necessary. Pretending it did not happen will not help you come to terms with it.”

“I'm still a disgrace. I don't deserve you,” he said bitterly.

Zevran allowed himself a frustrated sigh. Keiran flinched again, but only slightly, when he felt the other elf's fingers running through his hair. “Keiran, _please_ stop this. You are not a disgrace, and my… feelings for you are unchanged. I do not think any less of you.”

Moved by Zevran's words, Keiran felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his heart. The tears came again, but this time in relief. “You… you don't know how much I needed to hear you say that,” he whispered as he buried his face in Zevran's neck.

“You were completely isolated. There was no way for you to know you were being tricked."

“But-”

Zevran quickly cut him off before he could start attacking himself again, and made the Warden look him in the eyes, wishing he could wave his hand and wipe away the pain and uncertainty he saw there. “Keiran, do you trust me?” he asked again.

“Yes.”

“Then trust me when I say you are being too hard on yourself. Think of all you've done over the past year. You led us in clearing the Circle tower of abominations and defeating an undead horde in Redcliffe. We braved the Deep Roads and found the Anvil of the Void. Against all odds, you managed to gather an army to face the Blight… You…” Zevran paused and smiled warmly. “You gave an assassin seeking death a reason to live. You did all this and more. Would you call someone who has done all those things a weak man? A disgrace?”

He had to concede that Zevran had a point. “No… I - I suppose you're right…” _Ugh… Why can't I think straight? Is it possible that I'm wrong about everything? If I trust Zev, then… I must be._

Keiran let out a resigned sigh as he finally began to realize how he was behaving. “I'm acting like an idiot, aren't I? My head is still so clouded, and I can't think.”

“Your mind will clear in time and you will see that I speak the truth, but until then you need to trust that I will not let you fall into despair. I will not allow more harm to come to you,” Zevran said, pleased that he seemed to finally be getting through.

But this was only the first step and they both knew it.

_I can't expect that I'll be whole right away. It will take time, and I'll probably never be same again… But with Zevran at my side, I trust that I will make it. I won't let Loghain win._

At a loss for words, he did the only thing he could think of and kissed Zevran as passionately as he could manage in his current state. Keiran knew that speaking the words “I love you” would not go over well, even though they were true. But he had learned that when it came to his assassin, they could express the same sentiment in so many other ways, without using any words, and it was just as meaningful.

* * *

Some time later, Wynne showed up to check on her patient and found both elves asleep with Keiran still in Zevran's arms. She was mentally preparing the tongue-lashing she was going to give Zevran and about to wake them when she noticed something. Even in sleep, Keiran's face had clearly shown just how damaged he was. Was she imagining things now, or was he less pale? Was his expression less tormented? And the way Zevran was holding him… it was almost… protective? Tender?

Wynne hadn't thought it possible for Zevran to act in such a way, but she had to consider that perhaps she had been wrong about the assassin after all.


End file.
